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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23993155">Comfort of the Day</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent'>tastewithouttalent</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Nothing in the World [12]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Durarara!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Birthday Sex, Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Insecurity, Literal Sleeping Together, Living Together, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sleep Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:00:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,472</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23993155</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Today Izaya's thoughts are heavy, slow and sticky as they hold to the remnants of a dream that seems to have merged seamlessly with the real world, and in the hazy uncertainty between sleep and waking he lies still, eyes shut and mind wandering along the rhythm of his drowsy-deep breathing." Izaya wakes from pleasant dreams to better reality.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Heiwajima Shizuo/Orihara Izaya</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Nothing in the World [12]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/428863</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>239</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Comfort of the Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Izaya wakes slow. Usually his mornings are crisp, brittle at the edges with the shattered glass of the sleep that so often proves elusive even from within the curve of Shizuo’s arm thrown around his waist or bracing across his chest; most mornings Izaya opens his eyes to full consciousness in a matter of seconds, as his dreams disintegrate to the immediate curiosity of the endless notifications of his phone on the bedside table and the hour or more of posts he can browse through before Shizuo stirs with the first slow indication of wakefulness. But today his thoughts are heavy, slow and sticky as they hold to the remnants of a dream that seems to have merged seamlessly with the real world, and in the hazy uncertainty between sleep and waking Izaya lies still, eyes shut and mind wandering along the rhythm of his drowsy-deep breathing. He isn’t sure what woke him, isn’t sure he’s actually awake at all. Then there is a stir of movement, heavy with its own depth, and Izaya groans against what his slow-rousing mind takes a moment to identify as pillows. His body feels radiant, still heavy with sleep but glowing with warmth even with the familiar press of Shizuo’s chest absent from his shoulders; and there is another motion, gentle pressure working inside him, and Izaya gasps, and shudders, and realizes he’s hard against the sheets as something strokes a long, deliberate pull within him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Izaya?” The voice is familiar, comforting even through the haze of sleepy arousal that is distracting Izaya’s rationality into fragments still refusing to come together to frame a cohesive shape to the eclipsing heat of his rising desire. A hand touches Izaya’s bare shoulder, fingers stroke a sliding path down his spine. “Are you awake?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nnn,” Izaya groans, as a more comprehensive answer than words could provide. Behind him there’s the huff of Shizuo’s laugh made soft with consideration. The hand against him draws lower, following the arch of his back down to the dip at his waist, and Izaya presses himself up to follow it with the instinctive flex of pleasure. He turns his head against the pillow so he can take a breath of less heat and aim for something with more coherency than the disoriented encouragement he’s been providing. “Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shizuo’s laugh is louder this time, bursting bright as the sunshine Izaya hasn’t yet opened his eyes to see. “Not yet,” he says, and as the pressure inside Izaya shifts his slow-clarifying attention defines it as two of Shizuo’s fingers working on a careful rhythm. “I know you said you wanted me to but you started to wake up when I gave you a second finger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm,” Izaya hums, and turns his head back down against the pillows beneath him. “I guess you’ll just have to try again next year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess so,” Shizuo says, sounding not at all apologetic about his failure to keep Izaya asleep while he fingers him open. His hand against Izaya’s back shifts down by an inch to follow the rising curve of the other’s ass, where his paired fingers are stroking a slick rhythm against Izaya’s entrance. “Should I keep going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Might as well,” Izaya says with deliberate nonchalance that is wholly undermined by the way his body is tightening involuntary heat against Shizuo with each press of the other’s fingers. “I’m not moving until I come around your cock, so unless you want to bring me breakfast in bed you might as well take advantage of the opportunity.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Shizuo says, sounding warm and amused and not at all concerned. “That’s a really difficult choice you’re setting up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Izaya says, and shifts against the sheets to arch his hips up a little higher to meet Shizuo’s fingers and work his cock against the resistance of the bed at the same time. “Only think how awful it would be if I were </span>
  <em>
    <span>trying</span>
  </em>
  <span> to make your life hell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Imagine.” Izaya can hear the smile on Shizuo’s voice to match the gentle slide of the other’s palm as he closes his hand around Izaya’s hip and pushes to pin him down to the sheets. “Stop moving, you’re supposed to be holding still for this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was supposed to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>asleep</span>
  </em>
  <span> until you were inside me,” Izaya points out. “It’s your own fault for waking me up.” But he doesn’t try to push up against Shizuo’s steadying hold on him, and when he moves it’s only so he can draw his arm up from where it’s pinned beneath his chest and pillow his head against the support of his forearm. With this extra inch of freedom gained from the breathless crush of his pillow, Izaya shuts his eyes and lets himself go slack and heavy with the illusion of the rest that he has been so pleasantly stirred from.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s easy to drift back into relaxation. Sleep is often difficult for Izaya to claim for himself, even when he’s exhausted enough to feel the ache of fatigue across his shoulders and at the back of his neck; with a full night so recently ended, he has no chance at all of actually dipping back into unconsciousness. But he’s hardly moved with his waking, and if his awareness is fully present his body is still heavy with the lingering effects of the sleep he hasn’t yet shaken off. Izaya thinks he would be content to linger here even if Shizuo were still drowsing alongside him, caught in the tidal pull of his own dreams; with the persuasion of the hand at his hip and the touch working into him, he can think of no reason at all why he should move from exactly where he is, face-down in the sleep-warm tangle of their sheets while Shizuo coaxes his body from hazy warmth to the open want of arousal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Izaya doesn’t move from where Shizuo has placed him. Usually he’s an active participant, whether in the bedroom or out of it: even with a wall at his shoulders or the couch at his back, Izaya is quick to reach for a handful of Shizuo’s shirt, or hair, or belt, sometimes, to make a physical demand out of the want that catches his blood to fire with every shift of Shizuo’s shoulders, or flicker of Shizuo’s lashes, or coughing rough of Shizuo’s laugh. But he’s asleep, or pretending to be, at least, in deference to his own half-teasing request the night before; and so he lies still, eyes shut and shoulders relaxed and legs canted half-open as he listens to his breathing catching speed from the stroke of Shizuo’s fingers pressing into him and pulling back, as his heartbeat thuds at his ribcage and throbs anticipation into his cock pinned between the sheets and his hip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is something lulling to the motion, to the rhythm of Shizuo’s movement that finds gentleness from the midst of a demand Izaya can feel as a familiar strain inside him. It’s hard to draw out each thrust as something separate, impossible to define the point where retreat becomes advance; there’s just the friction, sliding forward and back and forward again in one long, endless wave of motion. Izaya feels his breathing falling into pace with it, matching the work of his lungs to the draw of Shizuo’s fingers, and his knees shift wider, sliding farther apart against the mattress as some forgotten tension in them melts away. He feels dazed, like his arousal is spreading out through the whole of his body, a bone-deep ache of pleasant possibility with none of the desperate edge of hurried satisfaction; and then Shizuo’s palm slides down his leg, and Shizuo’s touch urges at the inside of his knee. Izaya’s thighs angle apart, the motion shifting his hips so his weight presses his cock deeper to the mattress, and the bed rocks as Shizuo moves behind and over him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Izaya knows what is coming, knows what he ought to be tensing with expectation of; but his pretense of unconsciousness has layered itself into importance somewhere in his drowsy thoughts, and in the absence of any reason to resist he goes on sustaining the illusion, breathing slow and deep and heavy as Shizuo’s knees fit between his and Shizuo leans in over him. There is another stroke of Shizuo’s fingers, slick and easy with Izaya’s surrender to them; and then they pull back, and with the next thrust Izaya feels himself opening to Shizuo’s cock, the transition from one force to the next so seamless it hardly disrupts the rhythm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Izaya is caught by the pace, his body easing in expectation of the stroke of fingers coming into him, and in the surrender of his relaxation Shizuo takes him all at once, sliding forward with such grace that Izaya’s sleep-delayed realization of the switch comes in sync with his reflexive tightening around the base of Shizuo’s cock fully inside him. The sensation ripples up through him, carried into the depths of his body by his own involuntary response, and Izaya feels it build as it goes, rising along his spine and flexing in his chest to demand the voicing of a helpless, startled moan as the pressure of Shizuo inside him ripples pleasure out through him. His shoulders tense, his thighs jerk, and against the sheets his cock pulses to spill the heat of the orgasm that shudders out through him from the resistance he is so helplessly tensing upon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shizuo holds still through the whole trembling length of Izaya’s orgasm, his knees pressing into the mattress between Izaya’s and his hips still and his hands gripping gentle certainty to hold Izaya steady against the sheets as he shudders through each breaking wave of sensation cresting over and through him. Even when the greater pulses of heat have faded to unformed aftershocks Shizuo stays where he is, leaning in over Izaya and holding them both still as if he has no other plans for the whole of the day but to stay here and let Izaya come around him. It’s only when Izaya has finally gone entirely slack over the sheets, his breathing ragged and skin flushed and cock starting to soften where it’s pressed to his hip, that Shizuo moves to lean in over him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Happy birthday,” he murmurs, speaking soft against the back of Izaya’s ear. “Did you sleep well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Izaya groans residual heat against the pillows before he turns his head so he can open his eyes and take in the room around him. “I did,” he says, his voice purring low in his chest with the lingering heat still clinging to it. “And waking up was even better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shizuo’s smile flickers in Izaya’s periphery. “I’m glad.” He leans in closer and Izaya shuts his eyes in comfortable surrender to the brush of a kiss that pins a lock of his hair down to the soft space just before his ear. “What would you like now? Breakfast? A bath?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Izaya says, arching against the sheets to make a show of stretching into wakefulness while making no motion at all to disrupting Shizuo’s position over him. “Let me think.” He shifts his knee against the sheets and summons some fractional strength from the heavy languor that has gripped him so he can rock himself back against the weight of Shizuo behind him. “I think I’ll take another round of Shizu-chan, to start.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You came already,” Shizuo points out, with no suggestion of complaint on his tone. His hands slide against Izaya’s hips, his thumbs angle out to fix his hold to a firmness that prickles satisfied anticipation up Izaya’s spine before Shizuo has even moved. “Are you sure you can take any more?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s my birthday,” Izaya tells him. “I’m allowed to be greedy today.” He rocks himself back into Shizuo’s hold, testing the restraint holding him down and making his encouragement blatant at the same time. “You’re not allowed to say no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shizuo laughs. “Like I ever do,” he says, and his hands press to overcome the effort of Izaya’s upward angle and urge the other flat to the bed. Izaya submits, happy to let the strength of his body give way to the casual effort of Shizuo’s, and Shizuo rewards him by rocking back so he can take another long, stroking thrust into Izaya. Izaya shudders with the sensation pressing at oversensitive nerves, his body quaking with something between aftershocks and instinctive retreat, but Shizuo’s hands are firm at his hips and the reflex fails to stir him from his position sprawled over the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay?” Shizuo asks. “Too much?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Izaya breathes out slow. “Too much,” he agrees, and lifts his hand to curl a fist into the sheets tangled beneath him. “Don’t stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shizuo doesn’t ask him if he’s sure. He just pulls back, following the same careful rhythm he set with his fingers, so slow that Izaya can feel the ache of relief inside him as Shizuo draws back, can feel the slow pulse of want rising in the empty space before Shizuo’s hips come forward and he is filled again, overcome by an excess that strains his breathing and spills it to a moan past his lips. Izaya clutches at the sheets, struggling to tether himself, to act on the vague impulse to hold himself to reality, but his thoughts are blurry and his body is throbbing with heat and sensation and weight, and Shizuo is holding him down and moving inside him, setting a rhythm that seems to drag slower and more inexorable as Izaya’s heartrate catches pace with his breathing and speeds on to greater heights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Izaya’s eyes are open but he isn’t seeing anything past the flutter of his lashes with each surge of sensation, the plea of his moans are echoing back into his ringing ears as Shizuo’s movement swamps him, overriding his coherency, his intention, his body. Izaya can’t be hard again but he is, his cock is pressing to the sticky heat of his spilled orgasm and there is something endless swelling in him, rising along the curve of his flexing spine and tightening his fingers and hitching his breathing around impossible, unbearable heat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Izaya can’t take any more. Izaya can’t stop, his thighs are trembling and his face is flushing and Shizuo is still moving inside him, still working into him in those slow, endless strokes, and as Shizuo reaches the farthest point of his retreat and begins to thrust forward again Izaya’s shoulders tighten, his chest flexes, his body strains. He’s on the verge, balanced on a cusp of desperation, all he needs is—and Shizuo slides into him, and Izaya’s awareness comes open on </span>
  <em>
    <span>enough</span>
  </em>
  <span> for a brilliant moment. Shizuo keeps coming, deeper and more and hotter, and Izaya moans, and breaks, and comes, pleasure pulled up from somewhere deep inside him to spill aching, trembling relief through his tight-knotted body. Shizuo is still moving, working Izaya through his overwhelming pleasure as his hands tighten, as the strokes of his hips come hard against Izaya’s; and then there’s a groan, a gust of breath Izaya feels shudder recognition along his spine, and:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span><em><span>Izaya</span></em><span>” and Shizuo jolts deep into him, joining them together as his orgasm flexes through his thighs and tightens his fingers and spills from his cock. Izaya quakes beneath him, around him, reality unraveling into the endless, complete pleasure of shared release, and when Shizuo leans forward to press his chest to Izaya’s shoulders Izaya lets the tension melt away from his body to leave him heavy and slack but for the fading tremors of sensation thrumming electricity through him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They lie there for a long time. Shizuo is heavy against Izaya’s back; the weight of him is a comfort, stability and persuasion into the surrender Izaya has already made of the unresisting sprawl of his body over the sheets of the bed. Izaya’s arousal eases, fading gently into the middle distance of pleasantly achy comfort as the press of Shizuo inside him softens without removal. When Shizuo does move it’s only minimally, the tilt of his head to press his nose against the back of Izaya’s neck so he can huff a breath into the dark of Izaya’s hair, and Izaya smiles without opening his eyes to the demands of reality just yet. Shizuo’s lingering grip on his hip eases, his touch slides up along Izaya’s waist and trails the length of his arm to find his fingers still curled into the tumble of the sheets. When he winds a hold around Izaya’s wrist Izaya lets his palm turn up, his fingers loose and open for the gentle press of Shizuo’s between them. Shizuo interlaces their hands, squeezes careful pressure around Izaya’s fingers, and Izaya tightens his own grip to return the force with interest before he frees his hand so he can reach out over his head and indulge in the show of a luxuriant stretch beneath Shizuo’s weight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” he says, letting himself give way again to slack surrender. “Being twenty-one is off to a great start so far.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Izaya can feel the flex of Shizuo’s chest against him as the other coughs a breath. “Sorry,” he says, lifting his head from the back of Izaya’s neck. “Did you say </span>
  <em>
    <span>twenty-one</span></em><span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm,” Izaya hums, deliberately not opening his eyes to see the raised eyebrow he is sure Shizuo is giving him. “I did. Did you forget how old I am, Shizu-chan?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span></em><span>?” Shizuo asks. “I turned twenty-</span><em><span>two</span>
  </em>
  <span> in January, Izaya.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Izaya says. “You’ve always had a taste for younger men, you pervert.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope,” Shizuo says. “No, you’re not getting away with this, not with me. You’re the same age as me, you brat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re just jealous of my youthful good looks,” Izaya says blithely. “Honestly, Shizu-chan, at least make an effort to age with grace.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shizuo breathes a laugh. “You’re outrageous,” he says, and slides his hand back down Izaya’s side to steady at the other’s waist. “Do you always have to be insecure about </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span></em><span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to keep things interesting,” Izaya informs him. “What will I do when I lose my boyish charm and you—” Shizuo’s hold on his hip tightens to fix him still as the other rocks back to slide his cock free, and for a moment Izaya loses his breath and his thought alike in the vivid clarity of sensation. He feels himself tighten, feels the strange, dull ache of absence in place of a nearly-familiar heat, and the discomfort catches in his throat and turns his words over the edge from taunting to petulant. “—You lose interest in me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shizuo doesn’t even flinch. He just slides his hand back up, flattening his palm to Izaya’s waist so he can fit his arm around the other and pull them back together. “Izaya,” he says, low and warm and certain, as certain as the radiance of his heat-flushed skin, as certain as the weight of his body pressing to Izaya’s back to pin him to the blankets. Shizuo’s lips brush Izaya’s jawline; Izaya can hear the pleasure on the exhale Shizuo offers to the curve of his throat. “I’m never going to lose interest in you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You say that now,” Izaya says. “What about when I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>thirty</span></em><span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m still going to want you when you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>forty</span></em><span>,” Shizuo tells him, adapting Izaya’s put-upon horror into teasing sincerity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Izaya huffs. “I knew you were a pervert.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Shizuo says with the good-natured cheer that follows perfect satisfaction. He shifts his weight against Izaya to slide up higher by inches; when he leans in again his hair falls forward to brush against Izaya’s forehead and catch at the lashes of his closed eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, Izaya.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Izaya opens an eye to sneak a glance at Shizuo over him. Shizuo is smiling at him, his mouth tilted onto the soft expression he always gets when he’s telling Izaya something that he thinks is obvious, but his eyes are soft, his gaze heavy with pleasure and his attention fixed on Izaya with unmitigated adoration. Izaya’s chest tightens, reaching instinctively for support, for reassurance, for comfort: and Shizuo’s arm flexes around him, bracing them together with each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Izaya takes a breath and huffs it out in a show of exasperation. “Fine,” he says, and twists beneath Shizuo so he can turn over and look up at the other over him. “You might as well get started with kissing twenty-two-year-old me, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shizuo breaks into a laugh that crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “Okay, Izaya,” he says. He leans down, bowing his head over the distance between them, and Izaya lifts his hands into Shizuo’s hair, and closes his eyes, and lets Shizuo kiss him into the start of another year together.</span>
</p>
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